


the old me's gone (i feel brand new)

by montecarlos



Category: Motorcycling RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Canon Compliant, Gay Panic, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23528041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/montecarlos/pseuds/montecarlos
Summary: “Why don’t you just fuck him already?” Jorge whispers, his dark eyes directing Valentino’s attention to the crowd below and towards a certain teenager who is still clothed in his leathers, still covered in champagne and wearing his winner’s cap. “Marc’s obviously interested in you,”Valentino snorts. “He’s a kid who worships me, it’s nothing new,”
Relationships: Jorge Lorenzo/Dani Pedrosa, Marc Marquez/Valentino Rossi, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55





	the old me's gone (i feel brand new)

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly do not know what this is - the best explanation I can give is in basic terms; Valentino wants to shag 18 year old Marc. This was born out of an idea I rather liked - the concept that losing your virginity isn't some magical, incredible event but it's messy and it hurts and it's not perfect so I took that again and gave it a plotline. It's mostly canon compliant - set in 2012, but I messed up as in Le Mans, Marc crashed out but once I'd written it, it seemed stupid to change the plotline for something so simple, everything else is pretty much as the season ran. Title is from Not Myself Tonight by Christina Aguilera. 
> 
> Thank you as always to J.

They’re standing on the podium in Le Mans when Jorge first makes the offhand comment - it’s to be expected, the Majorcan is well known for saying exactly what he wants - with Valentino being on the end of his sharp tongue on one too many occasions. It was partly the reason why the barrier was erected between their garages and why Jorge was intentionally left off Valentino’s christmas card list for a few years. But their relationship has blossomed somewhat since Valentino left for Ducati, and Jorge has another focus - a focus who is short, Spanish and has arguably the best ass in the paddock.  
  
“Why don’t you just fuck him already?” Jorge whispers, his dark eyes directing Valentino’s attention to the crowd below and towards a certain teenager who is still clothed in his leathers, still covered in champagne and wearing his winner’s cap. “Marc’s obviously interested in you,”  
  
Valentino snorts. “He’s a kid who worships me, it’s nothing new,”  
  
“Never stopped you before. Didn’t stop you when I was his age,” Jorge mutters, but there’s the remains of a grin on his lips.  
  
“He’s _eighteen,_ ” Valentino begins, only for the words to die as Jorge all but empties the remainder of his bottle over his head. The cava stings his eyes, but Valentino sees the wide smirk on the Majorcan’s face.  
  
“He’s _legal_ ,” Jorge counters. “I think the only reason you’re so against it is because you know that he would turn you down, and we all know that the great Valentino Rossi doesn’t do rejection,”  
  
Valentino catches the growl that draws itself from his throat. “Can’t you just let me have this moment to myself without fucking it up?”  
  
“You know I’m right,” Jorge’s smirk grows wider as he turns around, clinking his empty bottle with Casey before he climbs back onto the top step. Valentino glances down at the crowd, at his team all decked out in red, cheering his name before his eyes flicker over to the teenager. Their eyes meet and Valentino finds himself smiling. He raises a hand to the crowd before he climbs back onto the podium for the photograph.  
  
“I think you’re just annoyed that your _boyfriend_ isn’t here for you to flirt with,” Valentino murmurs into Jorge’s ear, taking great delight in watching the Majorcan’s cheeks colour bright red. “Oh wait, he’s not your boyfriend, he hates your guts,”  
  
“He’s not my boyfriend,”  
  
“Oh, okay, so the sex is so good that you slept with him more than once?”  
  
Jorge’s cheeks are almost scarlet. “You’re just jealous you’re not getting any,”  
  
“I’d rather get myself off than my enemy who I have been in love with since we were teenagers,” Valentino hisses through gritted teeth forced into a smile, watching Jorge bristle at the words before he falls silent. Valentino can feel the heated gaze on his back as they leave the podium and make their way to the press room, but he takes it as a win.  
  


* * *

  
  
His confidence soon melts away as he sits in the press conference, numbed by boredom. He would usually lap up the attention, but his thoughts keep turning back to Jorge’s words. Valentino has always taken somewhat of an interest in the junior categories, what with most of his original rivals gone, and it’s a good basis for evaluating his own strategy and tyre choice. But this is more than that. He knows that he’s been overly friendly with Marc, maybe a little too friendly, but Marc reminds him of himself. He possesses the same youthful cockiness that Valentino had when he was a teenager and he had found himself drawn to that aspect of the Spaniard. But maybe Jorge was right. Maybe it wasn’t all innocent.  
  
He thinks about the last time that he spent time with Marc, congratulating him on his pole position and how he had wrapped his arms around the young teenager and pulled him close, slapping him on the back. Was there more between them? It wasn’t as though Valentino was exclusively heterosexual - he’s had a number of sexual partners throughout his life, both male and female - but Marc was different. Valentino’s never even seen him with anyone else. It’s understandable, young riders tend to focus on their career before boyfriends or girlfriends.  
  
Valentino’s attention is snatched away by the press who ask him the same mundane questions about the race, his feelings and everything else that he has grown to expect. He answers them carefully but his mind is elsewhere - his thoughts suddenly turning to Marc’s dark eyes staring up at him, his hands slowly moving into soft, dark hair as Marc’s eyes drew closed and his lips parted around a sigh of his name -  
 _  
__“Valentino,”_ _  
__  
_Those lips that he’s never thought of before, swollen and shiny whispering his name-  
  
“Valentino?” He’s drawn out of his thoughts as his name is called out once more. He palms off the journalist with a well-aimed smile, but he can feel the blush on his cheeks, the swell of warmth in his leathers that is definitely not a post-race aftermath. Jorge meets his gaze with a tell-tale smirk and Valentino has to fight the urge to twat the fucker in the face. He really doesn’t need another PR nightmare on his hands. But the thought of Marc is still there, long after the last question is asked.  
  
He’s _fucked_.  
  


* * *

  
"Are you okay?” Uccio asks him after the press conference is over, his dark eyes full of concern as he hands Valentino a bottle of water. “You look a little flushed,”  
  
“M’fine,” Valentino murmurs, popping the cap off the bottle and taking a long swig. “Just tired after the race,”  
  
Uccio raises an eyebrow. “You were feeling fine before the race. Was it something Lorenzo said?”  
  
Valentino feels the heat dance across his cheeks as his eyes snap to focus on his best friend. “What do you mean?”  
  
“I saw you two talking,” Uccio says, watching Valentino carefully. “You’re not sleeping with him again, are you?”  
  
Valentino bites back a laugh. “Once was enough. He’s just been an annoying fucker as always,”  
  
Uccio smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his mouth. “Just be careful. You know what he’s like,”  
  
“I’m not fighting for a championship,”  
  
“Doesn’t mean he can’t manipulate you,”  
  
Valentino takes another sip of his water. “He won’t do that, not with the dirt I have on him,”  
  
Uccio hums under his breath. “So, are we having a party tonight? To celebrate?”  
  
“Don’t feel like it,”  
  
Silence stretches out between the two men as they make their way back to Valentino’s motorhome. Valentino can sense his best friend’s suspicion - but he’s thankful that he could not be linked back to a certain Spanish teenager - a teenager with soft, swollen lips and dark eyes that seem to drink him in -  
  
“Vale?” He jolts out of his thoughts once more, but Uccio only stares at him intensely. “Are you sure you’re alright?”  
  
“M’fine. I need to shower,” Valentino hates how shaky his voice sounds, but thankfully, Uccio doesn’t press him any further and allows him to leave. He allows the sigh that he didn’t realise he was holding to push past his lips as he slumps against the back of the door. He pulls off his champagne covered leathers, allowing them to fall into a pool on the bathroom floor.  
  
The water feels good against his skin, the warmth soothing his aching muscles. He often laughs along with the age jokes, despite the fact that thirty three is hardly _old_ and he still parties like he’s in his early twenties, sometimes his body aches after a long, hard race. He lets the water fall over his head, pushing a hand through his wet curls before his mind betrays him once more. The thought of Marc in the shower with him - his bronze skin dampened by the water, his eyes peering up at Valentino through wet, dark eyelashes -  
  
Valentino can’t stop his hand moving to curl around his swollen dick, his head falling back his tiles as his thoughts seem to intensify. He imagines Marc on his knees, with his eyes peering up at him before he swallows Valentino’s entire cock. Valentino’s hands fist into the wet dark curls as Marc’s tongue slowly dances over his slit -  
  
“Marc,” Valentino murmurs as he comes all over his fist, panting rapidly as he blinks away the images of the debauched teenager. 

What was wrong with him?  
  
He’s just pleasured himself in the shower, like some sort of teenager whilst thinking about a teenager who was barely out of nappies when Valentino was starting his career. Pushing a hand through his wet hair, he wraps himself in his towel. There’s a knock at the door to the motorhome and sighing heavily, Valentino throws it open.  
  
“Forgotten your keys again?” He says, ready to mock Uccio for forgetting his keys once more. But it’s not Uccio. He feels his cheeks flush at the sight of the teenager who he had just imagined fucking standing on the doorstep, his eyes wide.  
  
“I can come back later,” Marc all but squeaks, his own cheeks pink.  
  
“No, it’s okay,” Valentino says, pulling the towel closer around himself. “Come in, let me get some clothes on,”  
  
He all but sprints to the other room functioning as his rest room, pulling on a hoodie and sweatpants, cursing himself internally under his breath before he moves back into the lounge area. Marc is sitting on the couch, looking somewhat uncomfortable. 

“I’m so sorry,” Marc cuts through the silence, his cheeks still pink. “I didn’t know-”  
  
“It’s okay,” Valentino replies with a smile. “I thought you were Uccio. What are you doing here?”  
  
“I just wanted to congratulate you on your podium,”  
  
Valentino watches the teenager carefully. He still looks uncomfortable, his dark eyes moving to dart around his surroundings, his tongue slowly moving around his lips as though to wet them. Valentino tries not to think back to his time in the shower, of Marc on his knees, staring at him with his dark eyes, his tongue moving to catch the splatter of come in the corner of his mouth -  
  
“Valentino, are you alright?” Marc’s words cut through his thoughts and he finds himself glancing at the teenager.  
  
“Yeah, m’fine. Thank you. Do you want a drink?” He offers the teenager a can of Monster but Marc shakes his head frantically.  
  
“Red Bull wouldn’t like that,”  
  
“They don’t have to know,” Valentino watches as Marc’s cheek turns bright red and he glances away.  
  
He can’t help but think of his and Jorge’s conversation. He knows that Marc had some degree of hero worship - he’s seen the interviews of Marc talking about him as his idol, the photograph that he barely remembers taking with Marc when he was fifteen up on a shelf, alongside the mini-bikes and the yellow cap. But he wonders if there’s anything more than that or if he’s just overthinking everything. It’s not the first time that Jorge has got inside his head - the stupid bastard had done his fair share of damage on Valentino when they were both at Yamaha.  
  
“Are you sure you’re okay, Vale?” Marc pipes up and Valentino’s eyes fall back towards the teenager, fiddling with the ties of his too-big hoodie.  
  
“I’m just a little tired after the race, I’m not young like you anymore,” Valentino watches Marc’s lips twist into a smile at his words.  
  
“You’re not old,” Marc says, shaking his head. “Thirty is hardly old,”  
  
“Easy for you to say, babychamp,” Valentino chuckles as he takes a drink. “You’re practically a baby,”  
  
“I’m not a baby!” Marc bristles. “I’m eighteen, I’m an adult,”  
  
Valentino tries to stop his mind going back to Jorge’s words about Marc being legal, and therefore, fair game so he changes the subject quickly. “I guess I should congratulate you too on your win,”  
  
Marc’s eyes grow wide. “You watched me?”  
  
Valentino replies with a nod, feeling his cheeks heat up again at the teenager’s expression. “Of course, I always keep an eye on the lower categories. I learned from my mistakes of not watching Pedrosa and Lorenzo carefully enough,”  
  
Marc’s dark eyes turn towards him. “Are you and Jorge dating?”  
  
Valentino almost spits out the mouthful of energy drink he had just taken. “W-what?”  
  
“Well, I saw you two on the podium and you looked pretty close - and you were teammates at Yamaha and-”  
  
“Marc, it’s okay,” Valentino holds up a hand as though to stop the teenager. “I’m not dating Jorge. I’d rather throw myself off a building than do that,”  
  
Marc’s flush grows deeper. “I’m sorry for assuming-”  
  
“It’s okay. I’m not dating Jorge. He’s nothing more than a friend - and an annoyingly fast fucker too,” Valentino stops, not wanting to divulge any more information, and certainly not tell Marc that Jorge was actively advocating for Valentino to deflower him. “So do you have any plans tonight?”  
  
“Well, I wanted to go out but-” Marc pauses, biting his lip. “I don’t really have anyone to go out with, all the other riders all hate me-”  
  
Valentino feels his heart sink at Marc’s words. He understands on some level what the young teenager is going through - it’s normal for young riders not to forge friendships with one another, especially since they’re all fighting to be seen. His own experiences were no different. “I’m sorry,” He begins, worrying his lip. “You could come out with me if you wanted,”  
  
“Really?” Marc’s eyes grow wide. “Are you sure? I mean, I thought you’d go out with your team,”  
  
Valentino knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself. “I’m sure, if you want to,”  
  
Marc grins. “Of course, I’d love to,”  
  
Valentino smiles back, trying to ignore the strange twisting sensation inside his chest. _He’s just a kid with a case of hero worship. It’s just a few drinks._ He tells himself, but he doesn’t quite believe it.  
  
He wonders if he’s made a terrible mistake when Marc turns up outside his motorhome door a few hours later, wearing a shirt that makes him look about twelve. He’d palmed Uccio off with some excuse about meeting up with him later and he’s not sure why - he always tells Uccio what he is up to, but somehow he thinks his best friend will not approve of him hanging out with a teenager.  
  
“Hi,” Marc says, grinning widely. “Are you sure you’re okay coming out with me?”  
  
“As long as you have your ID,” Valentino fires back.  
  
Marc rolls his eyes. “Sure, _grandpa_ ,”

Valentino laughs but he can’t seem to shift the same twisting sensation in the knot of his stomach that he had had earlier.  
  


* * *

  
  
It turns out that Valentino had every reason to be anxious. After three beers (one of which was procured as expected, by Marc having to hand over his driving license), it becomes apparent that Marc has had more than enough to drink.  
  
“Vale,” He slurs out, his arm wrapping around the taller man’s shoulder. “You’ve stopped drinking. It’s your celebration too,”  
  
“Someone has to look after you,” Valentino smiles, trying to ignore the fact that his heart is threatening to beat out of his chest because he can practically smell Marc’s stupid teenage boy cologne. “Otherwise, I think your parents would kill me,”  
  
“They don’t know I’m here,” Marc giggles a little. “Just Alex,”  
  
“Marc-” Valentino begins, only for Marc to lean in and press his finger against the older rider’s lips.  
  
“Shh, it’s our secret,”  
  
“Marc-” Valentino tries again, slowly removing the drunken teenager’s finger from his lips. “You should have let your parents know where you are,”  
  
“I’m old enough. I’m an adult now,” Marc slurs, his dark eyes boring into Valentino’s. Warmth floods his lower thighs and he can feel his dick standing to attention at the sight of Marc staring at him with glassy, wide eyes and plush lips -  
  
“Vale?” Marc’s voice pierces through his racing thoughts, his eyes have moved towards the obvious bulge in Valentino’s jeans. “Maybe I could help with that?” He murmurs thickly, his hands dancing over the older rider’s thigh.  
  
“Marc,” Valentino says through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the rush at the teenager’s touch. “You’re eighteen,”  
  
“Why does that matter?” Marc all but purrs against his ear. “I want you to take me,”  
  
Valentino has to summon all of his self control to push Marc’s hand away from his aching cock. “Marc, no. You’re drunk and you have no idea what you want,”  
  
“Please,” Marc mutters, his tone pleading. “I want you and I know you want me too,”  
  
“Marc, stop it,” Valentino pulls himself away from the teenager, ignoring the warmth that still burns low in his thighs. “You don’t want this,”  
  
Marc glances up at him and Valentino feels his heart sink at how crushed the teenager looks. “Come on,” He tries again, keeping his voice soft as he moves down to gently pull Marc to his feet. “Let’s take you home,”  
  
“No,” Marc whines, shaking his head. “Don’t want to go home,”  
  
Valentino ignores the Spaniard’s demands and heads for the taxi rank, holding onto a rather drunken eighteen year old. It’s easy enough to bundle Marc into the taxi, but that’s where Valentino hits a major stumbling block. He has no idea where Marc is staying and he cannot exactly text Marc’s parents or his brother and deposit a drunken teenager on them, so he decides to take Marc to his own hotel. He can always sleep on the couch.  
  
However, Valentino’s plan soon goes out of the window as soon as they enter his hotel room as Marc latches onto him and refuses to let go.  
  
“Marc, come on. You can take the bed-”  
  
“Don’t wanna sleep alone,” Marc slurs out, turning his face upwards to meet Valentino’s.  
  
The Italian stares into glassy, unfocused dark eyes and sighs heavily, feeling his resolve give in. It’s just sharing a bed, he tells himself - but that thought soon is crushed as Marc pulls off his shirt and his jeans, leaving him in nothing but his boxer shorts. He manages to persuade Marc to stop pawing at his own shirt long enough to get the teenager into bed. However, Marc soon curls around him the second their bodies connect, giggling lightly against Valentino’s chest. 

“Go to sleep, Marc,” Valentino murmurs, trying to ignore the swelling in his boxers at Marc’s close proximity. “You’re drunk,”  
  
“No, _you’re_ drunk,” Marc giggles under his breath, his hand moving to play with Valentino’s earring, his breath heavy against the Italian’s cheek. “I never thought that I’d be in bed with you,”  
  
Valentino hopes his cheeks aren’t bright red at Marc’s words. He can feel how rock hard his dick feels, rubbing against his boxers as Marc leans in, his breath ghosting against Valentino’s lips. “I know you want me, Vale,”  
  
“You’re drunk and you’re eighteen,” Valentino keeps his voice calm and firm as possible, gently pushing away Marc’s roving hands. “We’re going to sleep, nothing else,”  
  
Marc full on pouts at his words, wriggling forward slightly. “You’re boring,” He murmurs against Valentino’s neck. “I thought you were fun,”  
  
Valentino ignores him. He knows the teenager is trying to provoke him. “Go to sleep Marc,” He whispers, his hand moving to gently brush through the younger man’s hair. Marc seems to cede defeat at the tone, but not before pressing a feather-light kiss against Valentino’s cheek. “Goodnight, Vale,” He whispers before he goes limp, his breathing evening out as he slumps against Valentino’s chest, claimed by sleep.  
  
Valentino stares up at the ceiling, wondering how this became his life.  
  


* * *

  
Thankfully, the next morning, Marc is gone before Valentino even entertains the thought of getting up. He’s thankful for the fact - he didn’t want the awkward morning after conversation with an embarrassed and hungover teenager. His phone buzzes and he groans under his breath, grabbing it from the nightstand, his body still tangled in the sheets.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“Where on earth did you end up last night?” Uccio sounds _pissed_.  
  
“Just went out for a few drinks, that’s all,” Valentino glances at the rumpled sheets next to him. Maybe going out with Marc was just in his imagination?  
  
“With who?”  
  
“Just some girl, calm down,” Valentino says, worrying his lip.  
  
Uccio laughs. “You dirty dog. Is she still there?”  
  
“No, she left already,”  
  
“Without an early morning round?” Uccio sounds practically gleeful. “She mustn’t have been that into you,”  
  
Valentino mutters some excuse about showering, his cheeks turning pink. The less Uccio knows, the better. And when he gets himself off in the shower, his thoughts turning to the plush lips and glassy, dark eyes of a certain teenager, he regrets to mention that too.  
  


* * *

  
  
Usually, Valentino would welcome a few weeks at home - he would ordinarily go to his ranch and go a few laps to burn off some steam, but there’s an itch he can’t seem to scratch. He eventually slopes off back to his house and calls the only person he can think of who would listen.  
  
Jorge picks up on the fourth ring, sounding breathless. “What do you want?”  
  
“Can’t I just call up my old teammate and find out how he is doing?”  
  
Jorge sighs. “I’m not going to Honda, if that’s what you’re trying to find out. And even if I was, I wouldn’t tell you,”  
  
Valentino hums. “I thought that you’d have snapped their hand off at the chance to be with your boyfriend,”  
  
“He’s not my-” Jorge sighs. “What do you want, Vale?”  
  
“I slept with Marc,”  
  
There’s a rustle on the other end of the line, the subtle sound of Jorge moving into another room. “You’re kidding,” He mutters and Valentino can picture the smug fucker’s grin. “I knew it, Cal owes me fifty euros,”  
  
“Not like that,” Valentino hisses. “He got drunk and passed out against me - he ended up sleeping in my bed,”  
  
Jorge cackles. “You mean, you didn’t even get laid?”  
  
“He was drunk, and he’s _eighteen_ ,” Valentino can hear how weak his excuse is, but he goes with it anyway. He refuses to let Jorge have the upper hand.  
  
“And yet, you let him into your bed,” Jorge says. “If he was older, you’d have fucked him by now,”  
  
Valentino closes his mouth and opens it again, trying to think of a good comeback when he hears a familiar voice in the background - Jorge tries his best to cover the phone to reply in rapid-fire Catalan - Valentino doesn’t know what on earth they’re saying but he knows that voice. “Is that Dani?”  
  
“I gotta go,” Jorge murmurs out quickly. “Just fuck him and get out of your system okay?”  
  
Valentino calls Jorge every insult he can think of, but he’s met with a dial-tone.  
  


* * *

  
Catalunya is more awkward than usual. It’s to be expected - this is Jorge and Dani’s stomping ground, and he knows they get the same shit when they step out in Misano and Mugello. But this time, it’s made all the more awkward by his poor qualifying position, his head once again full of thoughts of a certain teenager who had claimed yet another pole position. He watches the Moto2 race from the pitlane, telling Uccio that he’s watching to check when the tyres drop off. However, as he watches Marc pull in parc ferme and remove his helmet, his hair damp against his forehead, he wonders if he’s trying to reassure himself of the true reason he’s watching. 

It doesn’t work. He ends up finishing seventh. He’s beaten Nicky, which is a relief, but it only serves to dull the sour taste a little as he watches Dani and Jorge flirt with one another on the podium, Jorge’s grin wide as he dumps the bottle over Dani’s head before he pulls the smaller man close for the podium photographs. But Marc isn’t there.  
  
Valentino doesn’t know how he ends up outside Marc’s door a few hours later after all his media duties are over. He’s palmed Uccio off again, it’s easy enough to do so - his best friend only smiling and slapping him on the back, encouraging him to get out there. He’s certain that if Uccio knew who he palmed himself off to in the shower, he’d lock him in his motorhome, or probably call him a sex worker to get it out of his system.  
  
“Vale?” Marc’s face appears in front of him, looking surprised.  
  
“Marc-” Valentino begins, only for Marc to pull the door closed, presumably to stop baby Márquez overhearing anything and beckons for him to follow him to a secluded corner away from any lingering fans and media.  
  
“What are you doing here?”  
  
“I wanted to apologise for Le Mans,” Valentino says quietly. “I shouldn’t have led you on like that,”  
  
Marc laughs and it’s _loud_. “I wanted to come out with you. I had fun,”  
  
“Yeah,” Valentino says thickly. “But we shouldn’t do it again,”  
  
Marc’s expression twists in confusion. “Why not?”  
  
“You’re eighteen, Marc-”  
  
“So you keep saying,” Marc mutters quietly, stepping forward and reducing the gap between himself and Valentino. “What are you afraid of, Vale?”  
  
Valentino bites down on his lip, unable to look away. Marc’s dark brown eyes seem to bore into him.  
  
“I know you want me. I know you watched the race today-” Marc’s tongue slowly darts out of his mouth to wet his lips. “I wanted to win for you,”  
  
“Marc-” Valentino begins, but he’s silenced by Marc’s lips moving against his own.  
  
The teenager kisses the way he rides - all rough, all tongues, full of inexperience - but Valentino can’t help but melt into it. Marc’s hand fists at the opening of his leathers, his thumb running over the familiar WLF logo that remains on the button. “Think you need to change this,” He murmurs against Valentino’s lips, his other hand moving to brush against the growing bulge.  
  
“Oh yeah?” Valentino knows he should stop but he _can’t_. He pushes Marc up against the side of his own motorhome, ripping his mouth away from Marc’s to suck a bruise into the sensitive skin of the teenager’s neck. Marc practically _mewls_ underneath him, his name sounding out like a prayer on the Spaniard’s tongue. Valentino knows that it’s enough to leave a mark and the idea of leaving a part of himself so permanent on Marc’s skin sends a surge of heat through him.  
  
“Vale, please-” Marc murmurs as Valentino gently pulls his mouth away, his eyes locked on the teenagers.  
  
“Tell me what you need,”  
  
“I want you to fuck me,” Marc’s eyes are almost black, his lips swollen and slick with saliva. “Fuck me so hard I forget my name,” His hand moves to slowly pull down the zip of Valentino’s leathers. Valentino suddenly stops, pulling himself away from the Spaniard, panic penetrating every nerve of his body.  
  
“No, we can’t do this,” He says as though to convince himself.  
  
“Vale please-” Marc begins, but Valentino shrugs off his hands and his words and all but sprints back to his own motorhome, holding his breath until he’s inside, his back against the door as he slides down it slowly, trying not to replay how good Marc had felt against him.  
  
However, the silence does not remain there for long. Three hurried and angry knocks thunder against his door and Valentino jolts as Marc’s voice sounds out from behind it.  
  
“Vale, answer the damn door,” Marc snaps, his voice toned with anger as another knock slams hard against the door. Valentino knows that he could ignore it, but he doesn’t want to. He yanks the door open, his eyes falling on the teenager standing in front of him. Marc doesn’t say anything as he pushes past the taller man, the door slamming shut behind them.  
  
“Marc, you should go,”  
  
“I’m not going anywhere,” Marc hisses, his face red with anger. Valentino realises that Jorge was right - the kid really is a brat.  
  
“Marc-”  
  
“You don’t get to kiss me like that and then run away, Vale,”  
  
“It meant nothing. I was just frustrated after the race-”  
  
“Bullshit,” Marc cuts him off and Valentino feels a rush of heat in his lower thighs. Nobody has ever spoken to him like that, and certainly not an eighteen year old in Moto2. “I know you want me and that scares you,”  
  
Valentino snorts. “I’ve fucked guys before, it’s nothing new to me. I’m not some blushing virgin when it comes to these things,” He misses the brief flash of panic in Marc’s eyes at the statement. “We can’t do this,”  
  
“Why not?” Marc moves closer, his eyes dark. “Give me a reason other than my age. I’m old enough. I’m an adult. What is it? You think I’m going to risk your career to out you?”  
  
“It’s not my career you’d be risking,” Valentino fires back.  
  
“So what’s stopping you from taking me right now? We’re all alone, you could have me just how you wanted-”  
  
Valentino feels his resolve break and slams Marc up against the door to the motorhome, their lips sealing against each other. Marc gasps at the contact and Valentino seizes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding across Marc’s lips. The teenager tastes of Red Bull - because of course he does - and sweat, with something else that Valentino cannot place. Marc groans against his lips, one of his hands tugging on the zip to Valentino’s leathers insistently.  
  
“Please,” Marc murmurs as Valentino lifts him up, his legs curling around the older rider’s waist. Valentino carries him through to his bedroom, the place of legend in the casa quarantasei, his lips moving to trace over the curve of Marc’s jawline, dipping down to the sweet spot in the crook of the teenager’s neck. Marc arches into the touch as Valentino’s teeth scrape over his skin, marking him once more.  
  
“You look so beautiful,” Valentino whispers against the bronze skin. “When you beg underneath me,” He smiles as he nips another bruise into Marc’s skin, his hands moving to slowly pull down the zipper to Marc’s jeans.  
  
“Vale, please,” Marc murmurs again.  
  
“What do you need?” Valentino says softly, ripping his mouth away as he stares down at the teenager, all blown pupils and ruffled hair, his lips all swollen as they had been in all of Valentino’s fantasies - he can feel his swollen cock pushing against his tight leathers.  
  
“You,” Marc gasps out. “Your cock inside me,”  
  
Valentino grins widely as he pops the zipper of Marc’s jeans, slowly pulling them down Marc’s legs, revealing miles of smooth, bronzed skin. His eyes drink in the sight before him, his eyes flickering up to meet Marc’s, the teenager breathing heavily as he stares back through dark eyelashes. “You’re so beautiful,” Valentino murmurs as he leans in for another kiss.  
  
Marc responds eagerly, Valentino’s other hand moving to tug on Marc’s mussed hair, igniting another groan from the young man. He makes quick work of Marc’s hoodie, marvelling at the muscles, evident from Marc’s years of wrestling motorbikes around, his hands slowly teasing over one of Marc’s nipples as the Spaniard gasps underneath him. One of Marc’s hands fists into the sheets of the bed, the other moves to try grab onto the zipper of the Ducati leathers, drawing it lower and lower. Valentino pulls his lips away, his gaze locked on Marc’s own greedy one as he takes in the sight of Valentino’s muscular chest.  
  
“Like what you see?”

Marc nods wordlessly as Valentino manages to muscle his way out of his leathers, the only sound is that of Marc’s shallow breathing as they’re thrown to the floor and he’s about to take in the sight of Valentino. He captures Marc’s lips again, the kiss deep and hard as their bodies fall against each other.  
  
“I’m going to get you ready now,” Valentino whispers against his lips, his finger slowly circling Marc’s ass before he pushes in a finger, feeling Marc stiffen at the contact. “Are you okay?” Valentino pulls his mouth away, his eyes watching Marc carefully.  
  
“Y-yeah,” Marc manages with a smile. “It’s been a while- just, please-”  
  
Valentino presses feather-light kisses to the corner of Marc’s mouth, slowly trailing down over the curve of his jawline, his lips tracing down over the scattered scars over Marc’s chest as he slowly presses another finger into the younger man. It’s tight - tighter than he’s used to.  
  
“Fuck,” Marc mutters under his breath, stiffening again at the contact as Valentino slowly begins to move them deeper and deeper, his mouth moving to gently slip over Marc’s nipple, biting down on the sensitive skin. “Fuck, Vale-”  
  
It’s like music to Valentino’s ears. He can feel Marc’s swollen cock between them, all warm and sticky with pre-come, his own dick swollen and heavy, warmth aching between his thighs - but he has to be patient. Valentino adds a third finger and Marc jolts underneath him at the extra digit.  
  
“Marc, we don’t have to-” Valentino begins but Marc shakes his head, his lip caught between his teeth.  
  
“Please,” He says quietly, his eyes locked on Valentino’s, brown meeting blue. “Vale, I need you,”  
  
Valentino takes his time, slowly stretching out the younger man and Marc begins to relax against him, his moans growing louder and louder, as Valentino peppers kisses over every inch of bronzed skin that he can. Marc’s groans melt into half-illegible Catalan as his hand moves to fist into Valentino’s curls. The Italian hisses at the contact, Marc’s fingernails scratching into his scalp, making him drive his fingers deeper and forcing a guttural moan from the Spaniard’s lips.  
  
“Please Vale,” Marc murmurs again. “Fuck me,”  
  
Valentino slowly pulls his fingers out, smiling at the whine that pushes past Marc’s lips before he shifts slightly to grab the lube and a condom from the table next to his bed. Marc watches silently, tensing only at the sound of the foil packet ripping open, his eyes wide as Valentino slowly rolls the condom onto his aching hard dick. The snick of the lube bottle cuts through the silence as Valentino slowly locks his eyes on Marc. “You sure about this?”  
  
“Yes, fuck me, please,” Marc whispers.  
  
Valentino nods and slowly inches his way into him, gasping at the sensation - Marc is warm and tight, tighter than he imagined - but he feels incredible around him. His eyes fall closed, his breath shallow than usual, enjoying the sensation of tight, wet heat enclosing him. But Marc has stiffened underneath him, and he immediately snaps to attention, pausing for a moment. Marc is biting down on his lip, hard enough for it to bleed, his eyes closed and an expression of pain flooding over his features.  
  
“Hey, are you okay?” Valentino whispers, his voice soft as he gently brushes Marc’s sweaty hair away from his face. “We can stop if you want,”  
  
“No,” Marc shakes his head, his eyes snapping open. “I want this,”  
  
“Okay,” Valentino says quietly. “I’m going to move now, okay?”  
  
Marc nods once, wordlessly as Valentino slowly presses further inside him, picking up his rhythm, trying to keep it steady. He tries to focus on how good Marc feels around him, on the warm skin brushing against his own, the light shallow pants that force their way past Marc’s swollen lips but he stops again - Marc’s face is twisted in pain, his knuckles almost white clutching at the bedsheets.  
  
“Marc?”  
  
“Don’t stop,” Marc whispers, his eyes still closed. 

“Marc,” Valentino says softly, his hand stroking over Marc’s cheekbone. “Look at me,”  
  
Marc’s eyes snap open, his lip still caught between his teeth.  
  
“You haven’t done this before, have you?” Valentino keeps his voice soft, his eyes locked on Marc’s. Marc slowly shakes his head, his eyes suddenly glassy with unshed tears.  
  
“No-” He murmurs out. “I’m sorry,”  
  
“Don’t be sorry,” Valentino says quietly as he slowly pulls himself out of Marc, ignoring the teenager’s protests. “You’re not ready,”  
  
“I can handle a little pain,” Marc says, the tears threatening to fall. “Please, Vale, _please_ ,”  
  
Valentino leans down to gently brush a kiss against Marc’s forehead. “Not today, we can try another time, I promise,”  
  
Marc nods silently, the tears beginning to fall down his cheeks. “I just- I wanted it-”  
  
“I know,” Valentino replies, his lips chasing away the tears. “We can try again, just not right now, not when you’re in pain. We can take our time and make you feel good,”  
  
“I wanted to make you feel good,” Marc whimpers, biting his lip.  
  
“And you will,” Valentino peppers kisses over the teenager’s face. “Another time, I promise,” The tears are salty against his lips, but he continues to kiss Marc’s face as he pulls the blankets over them, wrapping Marc up in his arms, stroking over his skin. “It’s okay, Marc,”  
  
“Did you like it?” Marc whispers, his voice slightly thick.  
  
“Yeah, I did,” Valentino says between kisses. “And I’ll take your virginity when you’re ready if that’s what you want,”  
  
“That is exactly what I want,” Marc says, a small smile brushing against his lips. Valentino smiles back as he leans in and kisses Marc gently. It’s soft and slow and sleepy, but it’s exactly what Marc needs to relax.  
  
“Thank you,” Marc murmurs as he yawns, pushing his face into the crook of Valentino’s neck. “Are you sure about doing it properly later?”  
  
“I promise,” Valentino’s tone is soft. “Now sleep,”  
  
And Marc does, his body going limp against Valentino’s, lulled by the italian’s fingers lightly carding through soft, sweaty hair. Valentino grabs his phone from the side, careful not to wake the sleeping teenager as he types out a message.  
 **  
To: yourgay**  
You were right.  
  
 **From: yourgay**  
About what?  
  
 **To: yourgay**  
Me and Marc.  
  
He prepares for the onslaught of stupid emojis and the I told you so that will inevitably be the Majorcan’s reply but it never comes. Instead, there’s a simple message.  
  
 **From: yourgay**  
Jorge is busy right now. He will text you later.  
  
Valentino stifles a laugh, eager not to wake Marc who is still slumbering as he types out his response.  
 **  
To: yourgay**  
Thanks, Dani. Give him hell.  
  
Valentino feels his eyes grow heavy as the reply finally comes through.  
 **  
From: yourgay**  
Will do. Thanks, Vale.  
  
He chuckles under his breath as he puts the phone back down and pulls Marc closer to him, happy to just enjoy the feeling of the young man in his arms.


End file.
